


Houston, We Have Lift-Off

by pir8fancier



Series: Do I or Don't I? [8]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2383484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pir8fancier/pseuds/pir8fancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney has been okayed to have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Houston, We Have Lift-Off

Two months back on base and Rodney gets the okay from Dr. Kim to have sex again. It's one of the most uncomfortable conversations of his entire life. She is one of those people who insists on making constant eye contact when she talks to you, which he finds annoying, and it might be his imagination but he doesn't think so, her gaze is especially intense during his check-ups and exams when she's discussing issues that really he doesn't want to discuss. Especially with her.

"Dr. McKay. Your incision has healed completely, and I see that you are following my exercise regimen."

"Do I have a choice?" Rodney isn't exactly snapping at her, but his dislike of her always manages to seep through somehow, no matter how hard he tries.

One of the few people he has met in his forty-one years who is not the least bit intimidated by him, she doesn't do an end run around his semi-snotty reply or make a semi-joke out of it or get defensive or any of the _normal_ things people usually do in response to him. Carson would have sighed his ach-lad-you-are-such-a-difficult-patient sigh. She replies, "No, you could ignore me and have a fatal heart attack in four years, with a heart so damaged that no medical intervention could possibly save you." She says this in her usual matter-of-fact voice that drives him crazy. "If you don't wish to die in four years, you will maintain the current level of exercise for another month, and then we will begin to increase your general level of stamina by increasing slowly the intensity of your workouts. Also, I suggest that you start having sex on a regular basis. It is a very good workout."

Rodney can feel his eyes bugging out and the blush start at his neck and crawl up his face.

"Many men are afraid to have sex after a heart attack, but it is actually quite efficacious for healing. Sexually active people are generally happier people. Does sex make you happy, Dr. McKay?"

He doesn't think he has responded, but she is STILL making eye contact with him and gives him a terse nod, like he'd said "yes," which he most certainly had not. The blush must have deepened, because now it feels like his eyes are just short of disintegrating into a boiling eye-ish goo.

"To combat the natural feelings of trepidation, I suggest beginning with masturbation, by yourself or with a partner, and then matriculate to oral sex, to be followed by more physical sexual activity. Perhaps you might prefer to have a more passive role initially, but, really, there is no reason why you cannot be the more dominant partner. You are only restricted by your fears."

At that point Rodney gets up and leaves the room, because if he stays he's going to self-combust with embarrassment.

******************************

Rodney doesn't go back to the lab or even to the gym where John is getting his daily pummeling from Teyla. No, he goes out to the pier and sits for a bit to think. Rodney knows that John cares for him even more than Rodney thought was possible, but he's a lot less sure that John wants to have sex with him anymore. The whole heart attack/bypass surgery business seems to have jump-shifted their relationship away from what it was and has returned it to being best-buds territory. Perhaps, bestest-buds territory who now share a bed, but whatever the configuration, something that is definitely sexless. And it's not just because Rodney hasn't been medically cleared to have sex yet. Until today.

Okay, no sex is pretty much a given post-heart attack and especially post by-pass. And, yes, dying twice and then having death sitting on your shoulder for a couple of weeks really does kill one's sexual mojo, and then all that post-surgery crap and... Rodney hadn't felt like tearing up the sheets for quite a while. But the awful thing is that it doesn't feel like John is frustrated by all this recent medical crap. In fact, he's gone asexual on Rodney, exactly like he was before Rodney's proposal.

Since they'd returned from D.C., John has been pulling away physically. Initially Rodney convinces himself that these suspicions are due to his usual lack of sexual confidence and frankly neurotic tendency to doubt his sexual allure, working in combination with fallout from heart attack. But after gathering some data--Rodney hates channeling Margaret Mead and he is always much more comfortable dealing with logical, sensible things like integers, but data is data--he can't deny that something is different. It's little things like John either going to bed early or going to bed late. On the rare occasion when they do go to bed together, John makes a lightning beeline for the covers and usually has his nose in a book before Rodney even has his pants off. Then it's a distracted "Night" as Rodney climbs into bed, as if Russian tragedy is so amazingly fascinating that John can only manage one small word before delving back into all the Slavic misery.

Which might have been okay except that John now takes extra long showers and Rodney will wake up in the middle of the night to feel the back and forth of the stealthiest hand job ever. Obviously John's "parts" are just as frisky as they have been in the past, but none of that sexual hunger is even remotely directed at Rodney. No jokes, no "I can't wait," no, "Did Dr. Kim say when we can have sex again?" no, _anything_. It's like they've become neutered tabby cats, content to sleep up against each other but nothing more physical than drooling on each other during the night. 

For most men, most sex is like an itch that gets scratched. Literally, it's often that mindless. Rodney can't imagine ever saying, "Oh, no sex tonight. I've had such a bad day. A back rub would be nice though." Bad day? A blow job is the _perfect_ antidote to a bad day. Headache? Hand-job, please. Sex can be important and mind-blowing and all that emotional yahtzee, but it can also be just something that feels good and isn't any big deal. Sort of like cracking your knuckles, but hopefully lasts longer than twenty seconds.

He's not sure if it's the women he's had sex with or it's all women--there really isn't a representative sampling that he can draw definitive conclusions from--but none of them had a that "itch-scratch" thing going. Sure, some of them had unbelievable sex drives--that Russian scientist, God, she was insatiable--but it isn't the same. It isn't this matter-of-fact underlying sense of near arousal that most men feel most of the time. At least he feels it most of the time, and based on John's ready-up-and-at-'em approach to sex, he feels it most of the time, too. It's literally like a pot of water on the verge of boiling. One degree more and it will be roiling. Men and sex are like that. One degree is all it takes.

Rodney has never got the sense that women have the same boiling point, as it were. In his, admittedly limited, experience, you say to a woman, "I'm bored. Let's fuck," it's the A-bomb in any relationship. It's the biggest insult ever. It's the _height_ of objectification. He'd said that once to Jennifer and she'd unleashed a feminist screed on him that was so scathing that it effectively killed his erection, which he supposed was the point. When he'd said it to John, John had replied, "Bored, I want it fast and hot and dirty, or bored, I want it slow and nasty and dirty?" Which, of course, negated ALL ennui.

And the morning wood thing. There's wood--as there always is--and if you're a guy, you really appreciate someone reaching over and saying, "Hey, let me take care of that for you." Sort of like someone handing you the Cortisone cream when they see you scratching a mosquito bite. It's both primal and not a big deal. It just is. Women don't seem to get that "is." That there is sex that is just, well, sex. It doesn't have to be emotional affirmation of affection or even physical attraction, ironically enough. Men get that, and why not every guy on this planet isn't bi-sexual, Rodney doesn't know. He supposes it's Darwinian. If you had a bunch of men who were getting hand jobs all the time from their friends as opposed to boinking their friend's sister, then the human race wouldn't have lasted very long.

Sure, in the beginning of any relationship there is that kind of sex at anytime, anywhere thing. Biologically it makes sense; this amazing passion is about procreating. But basic "itch sex" is different. It's not passion so much as just having dicks that stick out, that are always begging for attention. Which Rodney thinks is also Darwinian, but somehow being horn dogs as a function of biological imperative always gets relegated to being skanky horn dogs with little attention paid to the biological imperative part. Sure, often he and John have unbelievably good sex and there's always affection and, okay, love--although he knows he loves John and he think John loves him, but they don't make any sort of declaration because, hey, they are guys--but the majority of their sexual encounters are simple and gratifying and an almost every day thing. Sometimes it's simple hand jobs or blow jobs, some nights it's hot and heavy and delicious anal sex that has Rodney stuttering with joy, but most of the time it's every day "itch" sex that's about silencing his dick's constant complaints that no one is paying attention to him/it/whatever.

Yes, sex between them had been so simple. And now it wasn't.

******************************

Rodney waits a week before telling John that McKay boosters are ready for lift-off. He's not sure what sort of reception he's going to get, so Rodney waits until John is doing something really mundane. Like flossing. John is something of a manic flosser, which isn't any surprise given how perfect his teeth are. Rodney once said something about how John must have been a slave to American orthodontia and was enraged when John had shrugged and said, "Nah. I just floss a lot." To which Rodney had replied. "Straight perfect teeth have nothing to do with flossing." John had bared his perfect teeth for a second and then noted, "It might." To which Rodney had semi-screeched, "It's all genetics." John had insisted, "Bet flossing had a lot to do with it."

The conversation had continued to deteriorate...

"Oh, for the love of Pete, it--"

"I bet you _never_ flossed as a kid."

"Straight teeth do not--"

"Admit it! Never flossed. Ever."

"This is a ridiculous conversation, and I'm not going to waste anymore breath on--"

"Makes my hair grow, too."

At which point, they had collapsed into each other, doubled over from laughing so hard. When they'd caught their breath, they gave each other blow jobs.

Sadly, Rodney doesn't think that tonight's conversation will consist of him laughing so hard that he strains a stomach muscle, to be followed up by a blow job chaser.

******************************

_TBC_


End file.
